


out of dodge

by ndnickerson



Category: Nancy Drew - Keene
Genre: Angst, Disguise, Drama, F/M, Nancy Drew Files, Post-Canon, Romance, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-28
Updated: 2009-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-05 10:29:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ndnickerson/pseuds/ndnickerson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nancy takes on a dangerous impersonation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	out of dodge

She hadn't lied. Not really. Not exactly.

Nancy fought the urge to adjust her wig and glanced into the mirrored glass backing the bar, scanning the rows of bottles. Yes, it was Ned sitting there. She had broken her date with him specifically because she didn't want him to know she was coming here. He liked to forbid her from doing things. He liked to give her that melting glance and that slow caress and tell her that he was just worried about her safety and he just wanted to keep her in one piece, and all too often she gave in and agreed to find another way or have him come along.

That wouldn't have flown here.

Nancy sighed and gave herself a once-over in the glass. Her own father wouldn't have recognized her, mostly because the outfit she was wearing was designed to not exactly draw attention away from her face so much as demand it elsewhere. Bess had spent hours selecting exactly the right outfit and changing Nancy's face with the artful application of makeup, and had even, after much begging, let Nancy borrow her bright-yellow Camaro.

Nancy's skirt was barely long enough to prevent even the most casual observer from giving her a split-second pelvic exam, and if she took too deep a breath, her breasts were definitely going to spill out of the lacy black low-cut bra, which in turn was barely covered by her tight, extremely low-cut shirt. The animal print three-inch stilettos weren't helping either.

"You're going to the Low End?" George had said, taking in Nancy's outfit with wide eyes, once Bess had presented Nancy for inspection. "You'll be lucky if you aren't gang-raped in three minutes."

The girl Nancy was impersonating wasn't afraid of anyone but the man Nancy was here to meet, and to be here, to keep her fuck-off stare in place, Nancy had to be Mira, she had to be the kind of girl who would keep a pair of brass knuckles in her back pocket and never, ever back down from anything.

But seeing Ned here made her tremble, melted away that false confidence and left her Nancy again, and she couldn't be that, couldn't do that if she was going to get out of here alive.

_What the fuck are you doing here?_ she thought at him furiously, keeping an eye out for a black ball cap with a red S on it. Mira smoked, so Nancy had forced herself to smoke one before coming in. She pulled one out and absently tamped it against the meat of her thumb, fighting the nausea that rose when she thought of smoking again.

"Hey, baby."

A bearded man in a t-shirt, definite intent glittering in his eyes, put his hand on her elbow, and Nancy didn't let herself shudder back in revulsion. She had been so busy scouting the room that she hadn't seen him approach. "Get lost," she ordered, narrowing her eyes.

"Come on," he said, his hand tightening against her arm.

Nancy's other hand lashed out and she grabbed his wrist, pressing the tendons, and a murky, confused look passed over his face as his hand went numb. "I said get the fuck away from me," she said, her voice still low, and flung his hand savagely away from her.

A group of college kids, clearly lost, shuffled into the bar, the girls wearing heavy eye makeup and satin, their eyes nervous behind their jaded stares. The light in the bar swallowed color, mired through cigarette smoke and against the few flickering neon signs on the walls. The whole place stank of beer and the televisions weren't those slick flat-screen models, they were huge heavy CRT units that hung from heavy metal shelves, well out of the threatening arc of battered pool cues.

Ned turned to look at them too, just as out of place himself as they were, and Nancy angled so that he couldn't glance back and suddenly somehow recognize her. Her body, though, was still very aware of how close he was, what she was wearing, and what that usually meant, and she sighed, glad that the latest creep had moved off, calling her something coarse under his breath.

The college kids moved into a knot, making a hasty decision to beat a retreat and forego the cover charge for a night with a little less excitement, and from behind them the man in the black leather ball cap pushed through, scanning the room himself. Without making so obvious a gesture as the raise of a hand, Nancy stared at him hard, trusting the weight of her gaze to draw his own, and she wasn't disappointed. He turned and stared directly at her for a moment, allowing her a view of the long, ugly scar over his cheek and the hard set of his mouth, then lumbered back toward the bartender, large hands beating absently on the bartop as he ordered whatever was on tap.

Nancy closed her eyes, willing the flutter in her stomach to settle. When she glanced back up, all steel and acid again, a bottle blonde, thong showing above her uncomfortably low jeans, was sliding onto the barstool beside Ned, her hand on his arm, teeth flashing in a confident grin.

_Oh,_ she thought. _Oh. I break a date with him and he comes here._

She knew that even if she walked up to Ned, tapped him on the shoulder and asked him for a light, the first and probably only thing he would see was the black lace barely covering her breasts. But it felt like he should know she was watching, anyway. Her stomach tightened when the girl laughed up into Ned's eyes.

Nancy folded her fingers into a fist and closed her eyes and when she opened them again she was Mira, and she was watching the large man in the black leather ball cap sidle through the crowd, heading for a table at the back, obviously expecting her to follow. She pushed herself off the wall, matching the swing of her hips to her smoldering gaze, and headed after him, pausing only to light the cigarette. The thin paper was still slightly damp where her fingers had touched it for so long, but she waved the match in the air with a steady hand, tossing it onto the dirty floor.

Mira was afraid of Cuimo. The newspapers didn't talk about him and when Nancy mentioned him to law enforcement, she saw a guarded look come into their eyes. Cuimo dealt in information, but wasn't above beating it out of people, and Mira had found herself in the unenviable position of needing something he had, needing it more than she needed personal safety. An SD card. And if Cuimo saw her face, if Cuimo saw Mira involved, well, Mira didn't want to talk about the repercussions or the likelihood of her dismembered limbs being discovered in the water in a week's time. He did ugly things to people.

He would do ugly things indeed if he found out that Nancy Drew, daughter of former district attorney Carson Drew, was the one handing over the money.

"You got it?"

She slid her hands into her back pockets and nodded, and he didn't bother disguising his thoroughly interested gaze, his frank appraisal of the angle of her hips as she shifted her weight on the heels.

"Do you?"

He nodded, but didn't make a move to produce the card, just took another long swallow of his beer. "Want to take a seat, sugar?"

Nancy leaned over, feeling the tickle of sweat between her breasts and against the back of her neck as she caught and held his gaze. "Sure you want me to?"

She had to hold her breath to keep her breasts from entirely giving up and sliding into plain view, but she put the cigarette between her cherry-red lips anyway. "Sure," he said finally, mouth curving up in a humorless grin that shifted the pale line of his scar into prominence as he hooked his foot around the leg of the chair next to him, pushing it out for her with a grunt.

Once she sat down, taking her sweet time about it, and once the waitress had come over and left with Nancy's desultory order for whatever was on tap, she wasn't entirely surprised to feel Cuimo's hand start at the base of her neck and work its way down, sliding down the indention of her spine. She hadn't come miked, but it had been a close thing, and it was all she could do to keep herself from sighing a prayer of thanks that she had decided correctly. The blonde bitch was still at the bar, Nancy noticed, and tossed back a long swig of her beer when it arrived, barely tasting it. Cuimo's hand kneaded inquisitively against her ass and she shot a glare at him, receiving his lazy grin again for her trouble.

"You know I have copies."

Nancy leaned forward and rested her elbows against the scarred table, exhaling smoke and the musky scent of his sweat. "Which is why you get half now and half if you haven't moved on it in a week."

He scowled, brow furrowing. "That wasn't part of the deal."

"And I'm not stupid," she snapped back. Mira wouldn't talk about specifically why she was so afraid of Cuimo, but Nancy was pretty sure it had something to do with the way he could casually lay his hand heavily against her thigh without batting an eyelash. She considered pulling her foot back and jamming her stiletto into his thigh until her heel was even with the skin, but thought better of it.

"Then the price is going up," he growled, in poor grace.

Nancy reached into her bra and pulled a wad of sweat-dampened bills out. "The rest will be waiting here for you with the bartender in a week," she told him, slapping them down on the table. "I don't have all night."

He muttered under his breath, clearly displeased with her, and inside she was shaking, but he reached into his pocket and pulled out the card, a dark smear of something that might have been blood on its face. She inspected it, slid it into a plastic sleeve and then tucked it into her bra.

"A pleasure," she said, her voice heavy with sarcasm, and pushed herself to her feet, but Cuimo grabbed her, fingers digging against her hip and inching her brief skirt down as he slowly counted the bills. She bit her tongue and jerked away from him, and in the space of a blink he had a switchblade out on the table and was giving her a warning look.

"Sit your ass down."

The restrooms were behind them, next to the back-door exit, the alley where couples went for privacy and men too drunk to aim at anything smaller than a brick wall staggered to. Ned was heading through the maze of tables toward the back doors, and Nancy knew only the broad lines of his shoulders and the hard planes of his muscles were keeping him from any harassment. The blonde cast a thoughtful gaze after him and was just sauntering after him, when Nancy, sidling around the table with Cuimo's belligerent gaze still on her, managed to trip the girl headlong into a table of men who were the closest thing to a nightmare Nancy had ever seen in person.

"What the fuck, bitch?"

Switchblade. Nancy set her gaze on Ned's back and kept it there, shouldering through the crowd after him, and he glanced back to see what all the confusion was about but she couldn't help it, not anymore. She had wanted to sneak out the back, away from him, make sure he never knew, but his gaze flickered on her for only a second, with no hint of recognition whatsoever, and she shivered, feeling the tickle between her shoulder blades, knowing that Cuimo could pick up that switchblade and fling it into her spine and she would die in a tangle of limbs on the dirty floor of a hellhole on the wrong side of Chicago, with Ned ten feet away.

The floor was a mass of swarming bodies, and Nancy didn't dare glance back. From everything Mira had told her, Cuimo would have no qualms about following her out and cutting her until she told him where the rest of the money was, then killing her and taking the card back himself.

Ned had finally registered that his recent companion was the girl in trouble, but from the angry growls of the other patrons and the sound of the scuffle, Nancy was pretty sure she had been able to handle herself. Ned put his hand up to steady himself against the wall and Nancy took a deep breath, grabbed his hand, and jerked him out of the club.

"Hey!"

He stumbled out of the building, behind her, down the three concrete steps and then they were in the shadows. Keeping an eye on the back door the entire time, Nancy stripped her shirt off, wrapped her arms around Ned, and kissed him so hard she tasted blood. And whiskey, a fuckload of whiskey. Even kissing him was enough to make her slightly drunk. He backed her into a wall and she groaned at the scrape of the concrete against her bare back, and then the back door swung open and Cuimo came out, scowling, scanning the alley for any sign of her. She closed her eyes and ducked her head in to dip her tongue into the hollow of Ned's collarbone, and he thrust his hips against hers. She glanced back up to see Cuimo peering into the shadows at them.

"Hey," Cuimo called, starting down the steps.

Ned turned his head and Nancy ducked into his shadow, half-feigning embarrassment. "We're a little busy," Ned called back, and even as she kept her gaze low and lashes lower she could see the vivid smear of her lipstick against his mouth, and the unreality of it made her want to burst into hysterical giggles.

Then Cuimo went back inside, shaking his head, and Nancy willed her heart to slow as Ned let her down. He reached for his fly and moved a few steps away, and Nancy smoothed her palms over her dark wig, the night air damp against her skin. "Thanks," she told Ned, pitching her voice low, sure that what he had done was instinctual, born of the years she had spent with him by her side. Act first, ask questions later.

"I didn't catch your name."

Nancy cringed, glancing down. Her breasts were gleaming faintly from nervous sweat, the dark pink edge of her areolae showing under the lace trim. "Mira," she said, adjusting her bra. She was afraid to move if Ned wasn't with her, afraid that Cuimo was going to come back out again and recognize her, afraid he was keeping a sharp eye on the parking lot, and she cursed herself for bringing such a conspicuous car, but she hadn't had much choice on such short notice and she hadn't wanted to take her own.

"Nice name."

She hadn't heard him speak to her like that in a while, with that polite, inquisitive tone, talking to her like she was a stranger. To him, she was. She needed to get the fuck out of Dodge, and the best way to do it would be to convince him to walk her to her car, tell him goodnight, and leave; but that would leave him here, far past the point of being able to drive. Driving him home... she didn't think he was quite drunk enough to avoid the pointed, angry questions in the morning. So he'd remember making out with some dark-haired girl in an alley. Maybe he'd even tell her, jokingly, like it hadn't even happened, like he hadn't really been here.

"Let me call you a cab," she said, shifting her weight from one stiletto to the other, pleading with her eyes for him to not recognize her and just go along with it, so the nightmare of the night would be over, so she could go home and rip the wig off and shower until she couldn't remember what Cuimo's fingers had felt like, digging into her hip.

"Cab?" he asked, zipping up, incredulous. "You joking? I'm not leaving."

"You promise?" She pulled her shirt back over her head, but it barely provided any barrier against the chill in the air. "Then can you walk me to my car?"

"Sure," he said, and she could hear the drawl in his voice, the sudden hypersensitivity of her skin as his gaze traveled appreciatively up and down her skimpy outfit. She crossed her arms and almost smirked when his eyes automatically centered on her breasts, not on her face. They were so easy.

"Thanks," she said, and walked by him, making sure to change her step, the arch of her spine, and especially the swing of her hips, because she knew he was watching, and part of her felt sick for doing it, for deceiving him this way, and for knowing that he'd fall for it.

And then, she was so keyed up that when his arms slid around her from behind she almost screamed, his warm breath making her shiver as he whispered, directly into her ear, "Just not quite yet."

_He doesn't know who I am,_ she thought, but she certainly knew who he was, and she was already wet, and she caught herself eyeing the rough brick walls and wondering which one he would slam her up against, when she shook her head. No. This couldn't happen. She would turn around and slide the wig off, take his face in her hands and let him see who she was, and she would deal with the recriminations later.

_But you want to know,_ something small and ugly whispered inside her. _You want to know if he came here for this and if not the bitch who picked him up tonight then at least it will be you._

She had just opened her mouth when Ned, with a savagery he had never used with her, ripped her bra down so that it and her shirt were below her suddenly exposed breasts, and he was half urging, half pushing her toward a stack of empty soda crates that stood in the shadows at the other side of the alley.

She was shaking. "You really want to do this," she said, with just the hint of a question in it, just the hint of threat carried in everything Mira said, and for a split second, she silently begged him to change his mind.

He didn't answer; he didn't have to. He pushed her skirt up above her hips with little finesse, yanked her panties down, and bent her over the crates, and she twined her fingers into the latticed sides, the plastic biting into her skin. This was incredibly fucking dangerous. Mira would have slapped him and walked away.

But Nancy was wet as fuck and that tug she felt wasn't going to go away, and even though she wanted him she had to know if he would do this, if he would betray her this way, if he would fuck some stranger in the alley behind a bar.

While he fumbled with the condom she kept her gaze on the back door, very aware that her breasts were bare and would be in plain view of anyone who stepped out the back door. Ned had just slipped his fingers between her thighs, and she was so ready that he found absolutely no resistance there, when the door did swing open, and it took a full ten seconds for the stumbling man's eyes to adjust and see the two of them. With the specific clientele of the Low End, chances were fifty-fifty that he'd ask if he could be next in line; but she gave him her strongest fuck-off look and the finger, and he went back inside without a word.

"God, baby," he breathed, his hands sliding over the curve of her ass, and the crates shifted ominously under her as his hips pressed to hers for the first time. He made a displeased sound as his cock butted against her and she closed her eyes. She was on the pill so they almost always went bareback. Neither of them liked condoms.

_At least he's being careful._

She choked then, pushing herself up to stand so she could walk away, but then he was shoving her down and then, oh fuck, she felt him slide into her, without asking if she was all right, without bothering to ask her anything, with fuck-all consideration for how she felt, and this wasn't happening, it wasn't, and she tightened her fingers and pushed back against him, her hips angled just right until he was buried so deep inside her that she could feel the fabric of his pants against her bare ass.

"God," she sobbed out, and he held her hips in place and thrust into her, slowly at first, but then with such force that with every slam of her hips against her ass the crates were wobbling and she was going to lose it, her breasts shaking every time his cock slammed home, and when they made love it was almost always gentle but this, he was fucking her with no reservation at all, fingers digging into her skin to drag her even closer. She let her head drop loose from her shoulders and took a deep breath, pushing herself up on her toes to shift the angle of his cock, and they both let out a low relieved groan with the first jerk of her wet flesh against him. He didn't trace his fingers down her belly and tease her clit to bring her to the edge of orgasm; instead he cupped her breasts in his hands and squeezed them hard, so deep she was sure she would bruise, thumbs dragging over her nipples, and she gasped, bucking back against him.

"Now," she ordered him, and he stopped fondling one breast to smack her hard on the ass, driving her against the edge of the crate, and she didn't think about it; the crates looked new enough that she didn't fucking care what she was doing when she twisted it in her grip so that one of the corners was against her crotch, and she ground her clit against the jutting lip, a shiver dancing up her spine.

"You like that, huh," he said, and pinched her nipples brutally, ramming his cock hard into her, again, again, against the rhythm her hips were finding as she stroked her clit. She nodded, arching against him, panting.

He slapped her ass again, just as he was sheathed tight inside her. "Say it," he demanded.

"Yes," she gasped as she came, and he followed her almost immediately; he was motionless behind her, his hands resting lightly against her hips as he pulsed between her thighs. Her nipples were throbbing from his attentions and her ass stung, and she was sore as fuck, her clit glancing against the edge of the crate again when his hips surged against hers one last time.

Then he pulled out of her and she lowered herself on trembling feet back into her heels, already reaching for her bra, her thighs slick as she pulled her panties back up. She tugged everything back into place, wishing again that her skirt was only a few inches longer.

She wanted to cry.

Ned had fucked her within an inch of her life because he thought she was someone else.

When the last tremors of her orgasm had passed and Ned was presentable again, if still a little shaky himself, she dipped her head and let him lead the way, and when he couldn't see her she took a shuddering breath. She was going to kill him, once enough of her strength had come back to do it. She was going to kill him.

He gave a double take when he saw her car, and glanced back at her. Bess's was the only Camaro Nancy knew of that sported a canary-yellow paint job and a brown interior, and Ned, even drunk, had to recognize it. Her stomach gave a slow flip.

She already had her keys out. "Thanks," she muttered, brushing past him, her cheeks burning. Fuck Cuimo and fuck Mira and fuck Bess for putting her in this outfit and fuck Ned, really, for breaking her heart in the space of ten minutes.

But before she had the chance to unlock the door he had spun her around and pinned her against it, and he was kissing her, but these weren't the punishing brutal kisses they had given each other before. His mouth was soft against hers, almost teasing, and the intimacy of it made her feel sicker.

Then his hand cupped her jaw when he pulled back, and he whispered, "Thanks, Nan, I always wanted to do that."

Her jaw dropped and she was too stunned to speak when he turned and walked away, leaving her with the taste of whiskey on her breath and a suddenly lightening heart. "How did you know," she called, just loud enough for him to hear.

He turned, still walking back toward the club, and nodded at the Camaro. "She called me when you left her house," he said, a faint little smile on his face.

Only once he was out of sight did she slide into the car on shaking legs and just sit behind the wheel, staring without seeing at the misty glow of the streetlights, until she started laughing. A few bikers passed the car and shot her odd looks, but not too odd; to everyone else she was just a girl who'd had too many, her makeup smeared and the scent of sex still heavy on her skin.

She turned the key, gunning the engine, smiling even though he couldn't see her. Her cheeks were wet from her almost hysterical laughter, and she rubbed her palms over them, the foundation gritty against her skin.

"You know, I always wanted to do that too," she whispered, and checked once more to make sure the card was still in place before she peeled out of the parking lot and sped into the night.


End file.
